


Seen By My Eyes

by biswholocked



Series: JWP 2015 [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Body Worship, Community: watsons_woes, Desire, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sexual Content, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/pseuds/biswholocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpled hair, smashed into the pillow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seen By My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day nineteen of JWP. The prompt was "Watson is presumed unconscious/asleep/comatose, but he can hear everything everyone says at his bedside"; John is asleep in this fic, but I'm afraid I forgot to include the latter half of the prompt. Whoops!
> 
> If you like, you could imagine this as a companion piece to [Unparalleled](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4284144), though it's not necessary to understand either fic.

Rumpled hair, smashed into the pillow. Forehead wrinkles smoothed out. Golden eyelashes just long enough to brush skin. Slightly open mouth, damp lips, a stream of air in out in out. Sheets pushed down to waist. Chest, with a dusting of hair and the faded outline of scars past. One on the shoulder, still new, fascinating, textured but smooth beneath his fingers. Nipples, slightly pebbled from cold, a hitch in breath when touched. The thud of a heartbeat beneath skin, muscle, bone, an enticing rhythm he lingers on even as his eyes continue down. Navel, starting to round out with age, attractive in its vulnerability, in its trust, in the knowledge that they will grow old together. The sheet is pulled away. A trail of hair, leading down. Soft cock of medium girth, average length, appealing to him always. Thighs, rich with muscle, calves rounded from days and nights of running. Strong, capable feet, the bend in one pinkie toe from being broken years ago.

Change in breathing. Look up, movement behind eyelids. Forehead scrunches up, predictable pattern. Mouth opens wide in a yawn, catch a glimpse of white teeth, pink tongue. Eyes fight their way open, deep, indescribable blue that meet silver-green.

“‘Lo,” John murmurs, and his voice is gravel that makes a shiver run up Sherlock’s spine. His skin itches with the urge to taste that sound, to card his fingers through John’s hair and make it stand up in all directions, to roll until John is beneath him, pressed up against him from chest to thigh, to kiss his way across John’s body, to feel the way John’s cock starts to stiffen and hear the volume of his sighs and moans and whispers increase, to feel John’s fingers in his hair in return as Sherlock wraps his mouth around his cock, to feel his body twitch and his hips buck beneath him as he hits his peak, to hold John close after his own pleasure is achieved from the feel of John’s callused fingers around him and take in John’s scent at the nape of his neck.

And with a hand at the back of John’s neck that pulls him in, and a brush of John’s lips on his own, Sherlock begins.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/ con crit always welcome!


End file.
